


Anyone for lobster?

by Hypatia_66



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Challenge Response, Community: section7mfu, Drugs, Fishing, Gen, Sailing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 01:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15401970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: LJ Short Affair challenge. Prompts: food, steam, orangeA day's sailing is interrupted by an emergency. Illya saves the day (naturally)





	Anyone for lobster?

The sail filled in the breeze – brilliant white against the blue sky. The motion caused Illya some qualms as he kept a look-out for other boats but his breakfast was staying down, so far. He might even manage something for lunch – there was usually something tasty in the way of food on these trips. Napoleon, his hand light on the tiller, watched the sail, utterly relaxed.

“Someone’s on fire,” said Illya suddenly. “Look.”

Napoleon looked and saw a fishing boat belching what looked like smoke. He changed course to head for it. “Can you fetch the fire extinguisher?” he said – unnecessarily – Illya had already gone down for it.

He carefully approached the ancient and rather scruffy fishing boat and brought his own sleek craft up into the wind to pull alongside, near but not too close. He shouted and a head appeared.

“Are you on fire? Do you need help?”

“No, it’s a burst pipe! Know anything about boilers?”

“ _He_ does,” Napoleon shouted back, bringing the boat closer for Illya to jump across.

Illya timed his jump with the swell before leaping the gap and landing more-or-less gracefully among the fishing gear and lobster pots on the deck. One of the fishermen showed him the engine room where the pipe had burst and was issuing boiling steam. He had stopped the engine but none of them really knew what to do next.

“I can turn it off but I’ll need protection,” said Illya. “Find me some gloves and waterproofs.”

Adequately covered, just, Illya felt his way around the engine to find the valves that would turn off the steam. He could hardly breathe and he felt the skin on his wrists burning where there was a gap in the protection of the gloves and kept his face covered as much as possible.

At last, the gush ceased and he leaned back coughing. As the air cleared a little, he could see what a rusty little tub it was. Should never have left port. He was examining the pipework when the first fisherman came down to see what was going on.

“This boat isn’t seaworthy,” said Illya. “Didn’t you think to check the engine before setting out?”

It seemed it was a borrowed boat and they weren’t engineers, just out for the day line fishing and bringing back the owner’s lobster pots.

“He said it was a great little boat; said the engine was ‘sweet as a nut’, wouldn’t be any trouble. He just asked us to collect his lobster pots and bring them back safe.”

Illya’s interest was caught. “Any lobsters in them?”

“One or two, though one pot’s picked up a stone or something – quite heavy – no idea how that got in there.”

They climbed up to the deck and Napoleon watching, saw Illya and his friends bending over one of the lobster pots. He smiled. Earning his keep. A lobster was always welcome.

But crustaceans weren’t the object of the scrutiny. Illya lifted out a package wrapped in a layer of waterproof covering. “You weren’t told anything about what might be in these pots?” he said, looking round at the surprised crew.

“Just lobsters,” said one, “though he did say to leave them in the pots. He liked to take them out himself, he said.”

“I’ll bet he did,” muttered Illya and squatted down to open it.

“Hey, d’you think you should?” said another.

“I’m in law enforcement, so yes.” So saying, Illya slit the outer layer carefully and found a package wrapped in thick brown paper. It had the feel of a bag of sugar so he opened the top gingerly to reveal a lot of smaller packets in white paper.

“I don’t think this is for indigestion,” he said coolly, rewrapping it.

“What is it?” said another of the crew.

“Dumb-ass. What do you think?” said one of his mates.

Illya pulled his ID from his pocket and showed it to the one who seemed to be boss. “I’m taking this package with me.” He waved to Napoleon to come closer for him to board. “We’ll tow you back to port,” he said, “you have a tow rope, I assume?”

They looked blank and rummaged among the gear on deck, finally coming up with a line that would do. As Illya jumped across with the package, they tied it and then threw the rest to him. Napoleon eyed his partner who was not only soaking wet, but his hitherto smart white pants and tee-shirt were covered in orange stains from the rust in the engine room. “You’re a dirty guy, _again_ ,” he said.

Illya shrugged. “I can change,” he said and then remembered. “Well, I can when you take me home.”

Napoleon thought about his nice clean car seats – they’d have to be wiped afterwards. But, much could be forgiven. A second package had come flying across, tied up in twine. While he wasn’t best pleased to have a day’s sailing, the first for months, interrupted by all the ramifications of dealing with drug smuggling, at least there _was_ a lobster at the end of it – Illya had made sure of that.

 


End file.
